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Been thinking about this movie again

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Netflix: "Not quite ready for "Jurassic Park" scares? Try this kid-friendly spinoff"

meanwhile the kid-friendly spinoff is the most emotionally devastating and sometimes downright terrifying thing you've ever seen

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Candidate number 612

FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION

Behavioral Analysis Unit – Quantico, Virginia

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CONFIDENTIAL

PSYCHOLOGICAL REPORT – CANDIDATE EVALUATION FOR SPECIAL AGENT / BEHAVIORAL ANALYST POSITION

Current Name: \[CLASSIFIED – Protected Alias]

Birth Name: CLASSIFIED

FBI Identification Number: #087-994-1127

Date of Birth: December 20, 1980

Place of Birth: Wiskayok, New Jersey

Current Access Level: Level 4 (restricted)

Assessment conducted by: Dr. Monica Lewes, Forensic Psychiatrist (FBI – DC Field Office)

Report submitted to: SSA Aaron Hotchner (Behavioral Analysis Unit)

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### I. CONTEXT

The candidate was referred to the BAU following exceptional performance in advanced profiling programs at Quantico. Despite her reserved demeanor, she presents an academic and psychological background that warrants careful attention. Her original identity was legally altered with support from the Special Victim Protection Program, and her past is known only to a select few within the Bureau’s senior ranks, in accordance with current legislation regarding public trauma cases and protection of national tragedy survivors.

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### II. PSYCHOLOGICAL AND CLINICAL HISTORY

Previous formal diagnoses:

* Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), chronic

* Moderate depressive episodes (currently in remission)

* Adjustment Disorder (adolescence)

Past medications: Sertraline, Zolpidem (intermittent); currently not under continuous prescription.

Relevant history:

* Traumatic loss of a close family member (brother, deceased at age 11)

* Survivor of a large-scale catastrophe involving extreme isolation, deprivation, death of peers, and liminal experiences (details CLASSIFIED – ref. 1996 incident, Canada)

* Documented exposure to psychosocially extreme and dehumanizing events

Despite the severity of the events experienced, the candidate exhibits advanced adaptive mechanisms. Clinical interviews report episodic dissociation, hypervigilance, and persistent guilt. Nonetheless, she also displays a notable command of cognitive coping strategies, focusing on rationalization, discipline, and environmental control.

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### III. CURRENT BEHAVIORAL PROFILE

Observed strengths:

* High IQ, above-average logical reasoning (94th percentile)

* Selective empathy: deep sensitivity toward victims, particularly children and adolescents

* Exceptional acuity in observing micro-behaviors

* Analytical style focused on pattern deviation and psychological inconsistencies

* Solid academic background in Clinical Psychology, Criminology, and Forensic Anthropology

**Points of concern:**

* Low voluntary sociability; avoids lasting emotional bonds

* Restrained emotional responses, at times perceived as coldness

* Avoids direct confrontation but reacts intensely to injustice and cruelty toward the vulnerable

* Defensive behavior when questioned about her past (understandable given prior media exposure)

**Additional note (Dr. Lewes):**

> “The candidate exhibits an uncommon profile: a rare blend of silent ferocity and disciplined restraint. There are unspoken traumas that still shape her worldview, yet paradoxically make her a profoundly effective observer of others’ pain. Her motivation is not heroism — it is debt. She seeks to understand evil because she fears what she once glimpsed within herself.”

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### IV. RELATIONSHIP WITH AUTHORITY AND TEAM ENVIRONMENT

The candidate shows consistent respect for hierarchy, with discretion and firmness. She maintains a neutral posture until emotional safety is established. No signs of unethical, narcissistic, or aggressive behavior are present. Previous academic reports mention friction with peers due to methodological disagreements, but no disciplinary actions have been recorded.

Behavioral recommendation:

* Initial supervision by a stable, non-invasive authority figure

* Avoid direct probing of her past without clinical basis or consent

* Ideal integration in analytical teams, not focused on public exposure

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### V. CONCLUSION

The candidate is highly recommended for work in profiling units, with the potential to become one of the most intuitive agents of the new generation. Her past traumas do not render her unstable — on the contrary, they have made her a sharp, pragmatic observer with a firm moral compass. Her motivation is not ambition, but redemption. Her work is her way of finding meaning where there once was only survival.

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Final Approval: ✔️ Approved for entry into the BAU under direct supervision of SSA Hotchner

Electronically signed by:

Dr. Monica Lewes

Forensic Psychologist, FBI – License #45812-DC

---

A/n:

Congratulations, you've been hired! 🎉🎊🥂

Ready to your first day?

So, hello! If you're a little lost, yes, this is a reader x criminal minds x yellowjackets fanfic

I wanted to give you a little sneak peek into the series I'm writing, and I thought the idea of writing a psychological report addressed to Hotch about the reader would be a cool way to introduce her. And it was a lot of work, but it was worth it!

I'm always open to opinions and constructive criticism, plus my asks are open! . I'll soon open a form for anyone who wants to join the taglist, but if you want to join now, just comment <3

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01. First Day.

Spencer Reid x FemReader

Criminal minds x Yellowjackets

Summary : You wake up from a nightmare hours before your alarm. It's your first day at your new job, so it's normal to be nervous, right?

Warnings : idk?? Descriptions of a nightmare, possible anxiety. If you feel it needs any other warning, please let me know. English is not my first language! No use of y/n

Notes: So this took a long time to get ready, I hope it's good lmao. Not much of Spencer yet, I know, but I promise there will be in the next one!!! This chapter is actually pretty simple, it's more of an introductory one, but I promise I have a lot more planned! Also, I have zero creativity for summaries or titles lmao

DISCLAIMER: I try to be as neutral in terms of appearance as possible! I want anyone to be able to incert themselves in the story! You'll notice that the reader is referred to as Agent Jones in the story. THAT'S NOT YOUR NAME. If you read the reader's psychological profile, you will know that she legally changed her real name (your name) . I didn't give you a first name, but I chose the last name Jones to make it a little easier for me to write since i dont use y/n lol. Still, I'll try to use it as little as possible. I don't know if that made sense?

Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated!! Please let me know what you think. Any asks about the story are also encouraged!

Series masterlist

Your day began with the same dream as always.

The forest around you was too alive to be safe. The tree trunks rose tall and dark, like the columns of a forgotten cathedral. The leaves on the damp ground crackled beneath your bare feet, each step leaving traces of blood that mingled with the metallic scent and wet earth.

The air tasted like mold and moisture; each breath felt like it tore through your throat with invisible cold.The shadows—long and restless—moved with the breeze. You knew you weren’t alone—you felt it with the certainty of animal instinct.

Howls. Cracks. Screams shredded through the trees, as if the forest itself were hungry. Branches scratched your skin like impatient fingernails, marking paths you had walked a thousand times.

The trail always looked the same, but it never really was. The symbol carved into every tree stared at you with invisible eyes. Countless, circular, almost pulsating. You couldn’t remember what it meant—only that when you saw it, you had to keep going.

And at the end, always him. The hole. A black well yawning in the middle of the snow. The invisible fall, the cold that isn’t just physical—it pierces all the way to your soul. The snow fell in slow flakes, but when it touched your skin, it felt like blades. And just before the impact, you woke up.

Shallow breath. Skin stuck to the sheets with cold sweat. Eyes wide and locked on the ceiling, as if still expecting to see the figure between the trees. Your throat burned with the taste of fear. Always the same awakening. Always the same feeling that you brought something back with you from that place where time doesn’t exist.

You swallowed hard and sat up in bed. There were still two hours before the alarm would go off. But you already knew: sleep wouldn’t return. And the silence of the early morning is always less terrifying than the labyrinths of a dream.

You pushed the sheets aside and felt the cold floor under your feet. Atlas, your German shepherd, was already standing before you could even call him. His paws made a muffled sound on the wooden floor. He didn’t bark, didn’t whine—he just watched. His collar jingled softly as he followed you through the house, as if needing to ensure that you were truly awake, truly safe. The bond between you was quiet and steadfast, like the best kinds of love.

In the kitchen, the streetlight filtered through the blinds, slicing the gloom into pale strips. Salem, your black cat, sat on the counter, his tail flicking with impatience. His narrowed eyes and raspy meow signaled he was already waiting for affection. You smiled at the familiarity of the scene. Even on the worst days, he was there.

Most of your boxes were still sealed, stacked in corners. Silent chaos awaiting order. You rummaged through one labeled “kitchen” and found a chipped mug. You filled the kettle and set it to boil. While the water heated, you ran your hands over your face, still feeling the cold sweat on your neck, and went to the animals' bowls. Kibble for Atlas. A generous portion of wet food for Salem. At some point, Dr. Lecter—your absurdly old and absurdly slow tortoise—would show up, and you had already separated some arugula leaves and carrot slices for him.

Leaning on the counter, you grabbed your phone. Four missed calls from Van. No messages. An email from Misty. “Weekly Updates :)” said the subject. A ritual you two had kept since you reappeared in each other’s lives. You stared at the notification for a moment, then turned off the screen. It wasn’t the right time. Maybe you’d return Van’s call tonight, or some other time, when you felt more whole. And the email could wait.

With the tea ready, you leaned against the kitchen counter, where the early morning dimness was sliced by pale beams of light through the blinds. The chipped porcelain of the cup warmed your chilled fingers, and the heat rose in soft waves to your face, bringing silent relief. You held it with both hands, as if the simple act of keeping it steady were a grounding ritual, a tactic to ward off the remnants of the dream. The steam rose slowly, scented with mint and chamomile, gently soothing the tight corners of your thoughts.

The silence was comforting, filled only by Salem’s steady purring as he nestled into your arms, and the occasional jingle of Atlas’s collar as he shifted by the door. There was a melancholic comfort in that suspended moment, as if the world existed only there—you, your animals, and the promise of a new day trying to rise beyond the mist that fogged the window.

Today is your first day at the BAU. Behavioral Analysis Unit. Special Agent. A title you never imagined carrying years ago, when your eyes were still set on medicine. But life changed. Changed so much.

You graduated in psychology, then completed a post-grad in forensic psychology with a focus in criminology. The road was long, full of detours and pitfalls, but you kept going. You entered the FBI academy with focus and discipline. You worked in the violent crimes division in Newark, where your meticulous reports caught attention. The transfer to the BAU came through merit. And stubbornness. You accepted immediately. Part of you still can’t believe you’re here.

The parking lot was still half empty, the first light of dawn licking the quiet façade of the Quantico building. The glass reflected the pale, indecisive blue sky. The building looked more like a monument than a workplace, with its sober lines and unshakable structure, as if designed to hold secrets.

As you crossed the main lobby, you felt that familiar knot form in your throat—the kind of anxiety that isn’t fear, but rather an acute awareness of starting something that has no return. The sound of your heels on the polished floor blended with the soft hum of the air conditioning and the muffled groan of automatic doors.

The temporary badge hung cold and heavy on your chest. Atlas would be fine at home—you knew that. He always was.

Still, you always worried when you had to leave the dog alone for a long time—well he is never really alone, you guess.

You climbed the two flights of stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. An old habit: keeping the body in motion helps still the mind. The engraved plaque on the door was simple, direct: AARON HOTCHNER – UNIT CHIEF. You knocked with your knuckles—firm but respectful.

“Come in,” came the deep voice from inside.When you opened the door, Hotchner was standing by his desk, with the posture of someone who’s been waking up early for over a decade. His gaze assessed you without judgment, but with precision.

“Agent Jones. Welcome to the BAU.”

“Thank you, sir,” you replied—your voice steady, trained, but not cold.He walked to the desk and retrieved a small gray folder.

“I’ve read your file. Newark speaks highly of you. Your work is meticulous,” he said, offering his hand. The handshake was firm. A gesture that carried hierarchy—but also a trace of cautious respect.

“I try to be precise, sir,” you said.

“Good. You’ll need this.” He handed you your badge and official credentials—the leather still new, smelling of responsibility.

“Let’s go. The team is already in the briefing room.”

The hallway was lit by fluorescent lights that cast a near-clinical glow on the light gray-painted concrete walls. You heard them before you saw them: voices. Soft laughter. The distant sound of a pen being twirled between fingers, of a chair gently spinning. Small things. Human things.

As you stepped in, you felt the gazes turn toward you like automatic spotlights detecting movement.

“Team,” said Hotch, pausing at the front of the room, “this is Special Agent Jones. She’s coming from the Newark violent crimes division and will be our new behavioral analyst.”

A brief collective nod, accompanied by neutral, curious, or mildly skeptical expressions. You knew that kind of welcome. No one is embraced at first glance. Respect here is earned in the field.

“Welcome,” said JJ with a warm smile. “Hope you’re ready for the pace around here.”

“I do my best,” you replied, allowing a faint smile.

“You’ll need it,” added Morgan, crossing his arms. “We don’t go easy.”

“She survived Newark,” said Prentiss. “She’ll be just fine.”

Rossi simply nodded, watching with an experienced gaze. And then you saw him

His eyes met yours.

And for a second, the world seemed to hold its breath.

Spencer Reid was looking at you as if you were a word on the tip of his tongue — something he almost, almost recognized, but that still slipped through the bright connections of his mind.

“I’m Spencer Reid,” he offered, and the way he said his own name sounded more like a question than an introduction.

You didn't shake hands. The dark-haired man just stood there looking at you in a disconcerting way.

As if he was still trying to figure out where he knew you from. Even if, rationally, he knew that was impossible.

“Doctor, technically—but no one really uses that.”

You nodded. “Agent Jones,” you replied.

“You step firmly. Three taps per stride. That’s curious,” he said casually, as if commenting on the weather.

“Maybe I’m just nervous,” you replied.

“Or maybe just methodical. I’ll find out soon,” he answered, half-serious, half-teasing.

You didn’t answer. But you didn’t look away either.

And after a moment, the briefing began.

The day passed in waves of information, formal introductions, meetings with Hotch, forms, logins, access clearances. The paperwork felt endless. In the afternoon, you were released early to settle into your new routine.

When you got home, the hallway lights were dimmer than usual. Your footsteps echoed strangely on the polished wooden floor. As you approached your apartment door, you stopped.

There, on the floor, rested a small black box wrapped with a crimson ribbon. On top of it sat a plain card. Picking up the box and opening it to reveal its contents, your heartbeat thundered in your ears. Inside was a small carved wooden talisman. You recognized the symbol etched into the tiny pendant instantly—even after all these years. The same symbol that haunted your nightmares and was drawn across many pages of your journals. The forest symbol. With trembling hands, you picked up the card.

“Congratulations on the promotion.

This is to protect you.

Fondly,

L.M.”

Credits for divisors: @enchanthings & @cursed-carmine

Taglist: @butterflykisses-dandelionwishes @boopieluvsyou @serendipdipity01 @lokisswiftie @katzoinks @detmarmalade @mars-marley @esposadomd

Please comment if you want to be added or removed from the taglist!

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Been thinking about this movie again

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🌙 | Binge-watched “Moon Knight” this Easter, might have a small obsession now. I don’t know how I’m so late to it!! The show is so good!!!

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Forged in the flames

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⋆༺Earth’s Mightiest Headache Masterlist༻⋆

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: A collection of different one-shots with an unhinged reader as a chaotic whirlwind of misplaced confidence, untraceable knowledge, and genuine good intentions. People find you to be both a genius and an idiot, and no one can determine which side wins more often.

Main Masterlist

Keys | Fluff ✿ | Angst ⛆ | Dark 𓉸 | Hurt/Comfort ❦

✿ Heart First, Sanity Later - You, a dangerously chaotic genius with the common sense of a soggy spoon, somehow captures the heart of Bucky Barnes. Despite the constant emotional whiplash, raccoon-related injuries, and deeply cursed inventions, Bucky finds himself falling hard.

✿ Disastrous Dates - Bucky wanted to take you on an actual date. It was meant to be sweet. Normal. Quiet. Unfortunately, you were involved. So naturally, it was none of those things.

✿ Certified Genius, Unlicensed Moron - Exploring more of your relationship and dynamics with the rest of the Avengers, they are well-acquainted with how much whiplash and how many headaches you give them on a daily.

✿ Oops, I Joined a Cult Again - You joined a cult. That’s it.

✿ Operation: Lover’s Retreat (You Think) - Sent on a recon mission in the Carpathian Mountains, you treat it like a romantic getaway including but not limited to bath bombs, a sparkly kazoo, and one shared bed. Bucky remains constantly torn between exasperation and deep affection.

✿ Unqualified, Unhinged, and Unforgettable - A bunch of excited, hopeful rookies have the absolute displeasure honor of being trained under you.

✿ Chaos Counseling - You accidentally becomes the Avengers' unofficial therapist, delivering unhinged wisdom that changes lives whether they like it or not.

✿❦ Glitter, Gunfire, and Grape Juice - You throw yourself between a rookie and an energy blast. Bucky panics.

✿ Infected by the Chaos - Overtime, your questionable tendencies and unpredictable phrases have rubbed off onto your boyfriend. The team reacts by trying their best to un-corrupt the supersoldier.

✿ Pain Pills and Confessions - You’re loopy after surgery and nothing is safe. You flirt with Bucky annd ask if he’s single, despite being his partner. ✿ Surprise Dinner Dates - Both you and Bucky try to plan surprise dinners for each other. One goes much more smoothly than the other.

✿ Fake Dating - You convince your very real boyfriend Bucky Barnes to pretend to be your boyfriend at a high-profile gala after flirting with a Latvian arms dealer to get intel.

✿ Raccoon Negotiations - You finally get to meet a talking raccoon whom tries multiple times to bargain for your boyfriend’s metal arm.

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Still love this one so posted it here again 😌

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I Just Feel You : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds/Sentry x Empath!Reader

Summary: Bob Reynolds was broken, and he knew that, but he was trying. He was trying to be better, to control himself. But like Stitch had said: broken, but still good. You were beginning to make Bob believe that he was, in fact, still good.

Warnings: fluff, maybe a TINY bit of angst but not really, idiots in love with some pining, SPOILERS I guess for Thunderbolts*, talk of mental illness and drugs, tiny bit OOC Bob

Word Count: 2,603 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧

“The uh, the glowing doesn’t, like…hurt, does it?”

“Your eyes glow, and it doesn’t hurt you, right? It’s the same thing with my powers,”

Bob was mesmerized as you sat beside him in his bedroom, the soft green glow that seemed to envelop your hands as the feeling in the room changed. It had been a low day for him, his insecurities seeming to catch up with him after a failed training session with Walker and Bucky, and he’d retreated into his room to attempt the meditation tactics you’d been teaching him. But then, you’d walked in behind him, and the aura of pure tranquility and peace that poured off of you engulfed him, and suddenly his low day wasn’t so bad anymore.

The team hadn’t known what you had been capable of, at least not at first. You were skilled with the twin daggers tied to your utility belt, and a decent enough shot when you got your hands on a gun, two things they’d learned quickly down in Valentina’s vault. The sudden addition of Bob, along with Valentina locking them into what they’d quickly learned was an incinerator, had only heightened the anxious feelings in the room as the shouting commenced again between the mercenaries sent to their doom.

“Everyone relax!” you’d suddenly called out, a wave of energy almost washing the room in a soft green for a second. They’d watched your body stumble slightly before you shook your head. “We’re on the clock, we have to work together if we’re getting out of here.”

None of them knew you, so why were they listening to you? It was almost as if the second you’d told them to relax, they were hit with a wave of peace, and they were quickly working together to get out of the vault.

An empath, they’d quickly learned, when you’d torn Bob and Walker apart and taken the former to the side, seemingly having a way of calming him down within moments. Walker had read about another empath in SHIELD files Valentina had managed to get her hands on, an alien woman of some kind that had helped fight off Thanos. Other than her, none of them had ever encountered an empath before.

They quickly caught on that there was no lying to you about how they were feeling, because their emotions radiated off them in waves that you could constantly feel. Yelena’s sadness, John’s guilt, Ava’s desire for a family, the pain that Bucky and Alexei tried so hard to hide, you felt it all, all the time.

That’s why, as Yelena had dug herself out of containment within the Void, she’d stopped to tug you out from under the shelf lying on top of you, pushing you forward toward Bob as he battled with his inner demons, running directly behind you.

You’d paid no mind to Yelena hugging Bob opposite of you, or the rest of the rag-tag team you’d assembled trying to tug him back. You simply clung to him, turning to rest his forehead against your own, hand on his cheek glowing a soft green color as you whispered to him over and over again.

I’m here. I’m not going anywhere…I’ll never leave you. I’m here, Bob.

So, based on what they’d already seen and known, it was no surprise to anyone on The New Avengers that you both gravitated to one another day in and day out.

“It’s just pretty to look at,” Bob had mumbled, still watching your hands that now lay in your lap. He lay on his bed, head resting against one of his many worn-in pillows, just watching you from where you sat cross-legged in front of him. “Make me feel something.”

You’d quirked an eyebrow at his request, before reaching forward and laying your hand on his arm. His tranquil demeanor invaded your senses, a stark contrast to how he’d been when you’d first gotten to his room hours before, and you thought back on Alexei’s story the night before about somehow getting to drive Chris Rock around Washington D.C. months before. You pushed the feeling of every laugh you’d all shared that night into that demeanor that felt so much like Bob, imbuing him with the feeling of that night.

A smile stretched across your face the second you’d heard his laughter begin, unable to tear your eyes away. Happiness suited Bob, you’d known that from the moment you’d joked with him outside the vault, seeing a peak of his smile for the first time. He deserved to feel like this all the time: light, happy, free.

“Thank you,” Bob could feel the flush cross his face as his laughter subsided, stumbling over his words for a moment. “For uh- you know, being here. With me.”

You’d simply smiled back at him, lying down beside him on his bed. Bob shifted to his side so he could look at you, and no matter how many times you’d both lain here talking in the past, it still made his heart race to know you trusted him enough to be here in such a vulnerable position with him.

“You don’t have to thank me. We’ll always be here if you need us,”

“Yeah, but uh, you don’t treat me like a child. Unlike most of them,” Bob had mumbled.

It was a harsh reality, but not incorrect, and Bob knew that you knew it. Bucky managed to treat him like a ticking time bomb around every corner, but given the explanation he’d gotten about New York and what he’d done, and the moments that had slowly come back to him, he didn’t blame him. John, Ava, and Alexei were the worst about it, talking down to him like a child, as if he weren’t a grown man capable of making his own decisions and needed to be babysat twenty-four seven.

Yelena tried not to baby him, but she had her moments still. She constantly had a way of asking if he was okay, no matter the situation, and sometimes it had Bob on the verge of snapping. If he wanted to talk about it, he would, he didn’t need to be babysat.

It was one of the best things about you. You never asked if he was okay, simply just sat with him. You talked to him like you did the rest of the team, you let him come to you with his problems. He’d overheard Walker once say to you that you were the “best means of controlling” him, that you could simply imbue him with any feeling you wanted.

Of course, you’d kicked Walker so hard in the shins for that comment that his skin had broken open and needed to be stitched up. In your eyes, Bob was a person, and you refused to ever manipulate him in any way, shape, or form. It’s what made it so easy for him to fall in love with you.

“You know they mean well,” you’d tried to reassure him. “Yeah, they have their…quirks about it, and maybe they don’t always go about it in the best way. But they do care.”

“Not- not like you do,” Bob shook his head, embarrassed to look at you as his gaze drifted across the room to his bookshelf, the one you’d helped personally curate for him with hundreds of books he’d come to adore. “No, you don’t treat me like- like I’m broken. I am, but at least you don’t treat me like I am.”

“Bob, you’re-”

“Don’t say I’m not-”

“You might be broken, but you’re still good,” the smile on your face slowly morphed into a smirk. “That’s from this Disney movie-”

“I grew up in Florida, I’ve seen Lilo and Stitch. I might’ve been addicted to meth but uh- it didn’t entirely screw up my memory,”

The shared laughter between you both died down as there was a shift in Bob’s aura, and it washed over you in another wave of emotion.

It wasn’t the first time you’d felt it, the affection pouring off of him and in your direction. It was always there, growing, and almost always buried beneath his everyday feelings. But in moments like this, it was the most prominent feeling radiating off of him, and it did nothing to stop the flush that covered your own cheeks.

Bob simply watched as your hand found his cheek, layin lightly ontop of his skin as you looked at him.

“That little blue alien has a point. We’re all a little broken, Bob, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t good, or can’t become good. Broken isn’t bad, you just have to put the pieces back together,”

Bob couldn’t tear his eyes away from you, until the feeling that seemed to be flooding off of you and seeping into his very skin and being washed over him. He closed his eyes for just a moment, humming to himself at the feeling as his flush persisted over his skin.

“I- I don’t know what you’re making me feel right now, but it’s…it’s nice,”

“I’m not making you feel anything,” his eyes shot open, to see you still simply looking at him with that tiny grin, thumb still running over the skin of his cheek. “It’s…it’s just me.”

“...I just feel you?”

“Just me,” you took your hand away, not missing the way he chased after the feeling. You held it between you, showing the soft glow around you. “I’d never force you to feel something, not unless you asked. What you’re feeling it’s just all of my emotions mixed together. It’s just…me.”

“I…I like feeling that,”

“I know you do,” your grin became a smirk again as you leaned your head closer to him. “I think you forget, I can feel your feelings…all of them.”

Bob’s grin dropped for a moment as the weight of your comment settled on him. His feelings, loud and begging to burst out of him, were clear as day to you. Of course you knew, but you weren’t making fun of him, you were simply watching him as if you were waiting for him to finally admit it all.

“Can- can I kiss you?”

You didn’t answer with words, you answered with a simple kiss pressed to his lips. Bob responded fairly quickly after a moment, the feeling that he now knew was simply just you washing over him, as you reached out to hold you close to him, completely wrapped up in everything that was you.

Moving from the intimate friendship you’d shared to the now intimate romantic relationship between you and Bob hadn’t come as a shock to anyone, least of all to the pair of you. It was the softest of relationships, the softest of moments shared between you both. Bob always had his up days and his down days, but you were always at his side, allowing him to navigate his life as he chose to navigate it.

The team had been sent out on a mission that didn’t require everyone, and you and Bob had been volunteered to stay back. Neither of you cared much. After Walker had almost sent Bob spiraling in training the other day, a day to decompress was truly needed.

Bob found himself sitting on the common room couch, watching a random movie that he’d had on his list to watch for a while now, playing. You were lying across the rest of the couch, head resting in his lap as you watched along with him, sitting in a comfortable silence together.

One of Bob’s hands was in both of yours, your fingers dancing across his own, tracing the lines down his palms. His eyes flicked down to you every few moments, the smile on his face permanently etched there every time he looked at you.

“What’s your favorite flower?”

Bob paused, eyebrows furrowed as he glanced down at you, but your eyes were still locked onto his hand.

“Uh…an orange blossom. It was- it was my mom’s favorite flower. It’s the state flower of Florida,”

You’d hummed, before suddenly sitting upright, turning to face him, with one of his hands still sitting between your own. Bob watched you as you contemplated something before looking up at him.

“Do you trust me?” you paused for a moment before continuing. “There’s this thing I can do…I’ve only ever done it once, but…I had an idea.”

“I…I trust you,”

His hand laid in yours, palm up, as you closed your eyes. A single finger pointed down to his skin as Bob watched, that familiar green glow emitting as you began to trace over his palm.

There was the smallest of tingles at the feelings, of the tip of your finger and point of your nail tracing around on his palm. The moment you stopped and opened your eyes, you both looked down at his palm.

The smallest outline of a little orange blossom, just big enough to see, etched in that same glowing green on his palm. The light faded, as did the shape itself, molding into his skin.

Bob looked up at you, taking his hand back into his own lap, as you watched him.

“Pretend I’m not here, that I’m not in the room. You’re alone in your room…now think about it, the little flower,”

Bob did just as you instructed, closing his eyes and focusing his thoughts on that little flower. It didn’t take long until that tingle feeling returned to his skin, and he felt a wave of emotions rush over him.

Your quiet contentment, that same feeling you gave off every night as you read yet another book at one of your bedroom windows overlooking the skyline of New York. That hint of anxiety, the one that the team only noticed on missions in the most tense of moments. The overwhelming feeling of affection, adoration, and love that was directed straight at him and only him. Bob opened his eyes, tears threatening to fall as he looked back at you, at the nervous look on your face as you waited.

“I…I just feel you,”

“It’s called an imprint, an emotional imprint,” you explained gently as Bob looked back down at his hand, at the flower that was fading in glow once again. “I’ve done it once before, just never…on someone. I wasn’t sure it would work. I can imbue it with emotion, so say you want to feel warm and content under a blanket, I can place an imprint on it so that that’s what you feel the second you’re under it.”

Bob was watching you in pure amazement, flexing his hand.

“Why give me this?”

“So that you know that, even if I’m not with you,” you took a deep breath, a nervous smile still dancing on your lips. “I’m always with you. I could be halfway across the world, and I’m still always with you. So that you know…you’re never alone. If you need me, I’ll be there.”

There really weren’t words to say for the way you considered Bob’s feelings at every turn. The way you somehow managed to give him the space he needed to fix his own life, while also holding his hand through it.

In a rare moment of confidence, Bob reached forward and tugged you into a soft, sweet, loving kiss. A kiss where he knew you’d feel the way his affection and adoration shift: straight into love.

You did feel it. He never had to say it. A silent confession was all that was needed between the two of you in the dim lighting of the Watchtower’s common room.

[clangrogu]

[clangrogu]

15 years of training dragons!

(We will ignore that I am a day late!) Both teethlesses deserved to be here (_3_)

[clangrogu]

Botw is such an interesting take on post apocalypse, because it isn't really dystopian. It is a wound healed over, a world that has forgotten the end of itself, and in that, has begun anew. Grandparents whisper their nightmares into the wind, and smile at their kin. The garrisons that remain are sodden ashes in the dirt, a burial ground, and the most fertile soil for miles. You do not know the past that your body remembers. You do not know the voices that linger, and yet you follow. You follow, because the world has forgotten you, and you have nothing that is yours to remember.

[clangrogu]

[clangrogu]

Hmm actually Lucy Gray is different from Haymitch and Katniss and Peeta because her tragedy is she caused the games to continue. If the games hadn't become entertaining, they wouldn't have continued and she made it entertaining because she was an entertainer - she saved herself but she doomed dozens more because she performed too well and it allowed the Capitol to make the games a performance in the later years. Haymitch's tragedy is that he couldn't end the games, Lucy Gray's is that she continued them.

[clangrogu]

This is how the scene went, right?